


The Slime from the South of Uranus

by Sivvus



Category: Garth Marenghi’s Darkplace
Genre: Bad Writing, Funny, Humor, Humour, Parody, Pastiche, Spoof, hospital drama, stupid
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-07-30
Updated: 2019-07-30
Packaged: 2020-07-26 03:50:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 691
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20037442
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sivvus/pseuds/Sivvus
Summary: What you're about to read is the novelisation of Darkplace S12E29 but the idiots cancelled after one season so Dean said to write a book. Just because those studio execs can't read doesn't mean we shouldn't tell the truth about alien abductions which control people - I won't tell you how they do it, but think 'The Blob'. Sit back on your yoga balls or other balls, I don't judge, and enjoy.





	The Slime from the South of Uranus

Darkplace Hospital was as dark and dismal as a pub after the last decent looking woman in it naffed off for the night. The windows were dark. The walls were a kind of greyish plaster which Wonton had ordered from a knockoff painters who said it was white.

It served him right for buying cheap supplies, Doctor Rick Daglass MD thought as he drove his expensive, yet economical, sports car into the garage. He had told Sanch as much when they saw the janitors slopping it onto the walls, but the American was not as perceptive as the worldly expert surgeon doctor and had just nodded.

The garage reeked of paint. Irony of ironies: that the janitors were the ones who had made the hospital unhygienic. Rick Daglass parked diagonally across three spaces. He knew that other people were not as careful with their cars as he was, and he wasn't about to buff out another scratch. It was bad enough when Liz shat all over the seats.

Speak of the Devil and he's sure to appear (Aristotle said that in The Illiad). Or she, in this case. Liz wobbled across the garage in her impractical tall heeled women's shoes. Rick made a mental note to talk to her about them. It was all very well women being allowed in the workplace, and they had to have their shoes and makeup and jewellery to make them think that men still respected them, but she was even moer bloody useless than normal wearing the things.

"Doctor Rick Daglass MD!" She called out. She was relieved to see him. There was probably some emergency that she couldn't cope with: a case of the sniffles, Dag thought humerously, or a natural male specimin she was too close-minded to closely examine. Well, Sanch could do that. He was an expert on that area after all.

"Oh we're so lucky you're here you have to come quickly," she moaned breathily, "It's Thornton and he's been abducted by aliens and you're the only one who's an expert on alien abductions!"

"Can't do much if he's not here, sweetheart."

"Oh he came back."

"Probably forgot his car keys!" Dag laughed a long, loud laugh and Liz joined in. The echo made it sound like the whole hospital was laughing at his joke, which it probably would have been if half the patients weren't old fogies with cotton wool in their wrinkly ears.

Liz opened the door and they stepped into Thornton's office. Sanch lounged insouchiantly (that means like an American) against the desk where Thornton was sitting. Thornton was covered in green slime but apart from that everything looked normal. Yes, it looked normal. Dag had a premonition that something wasn't quite right. It was an eerie feeling like a spider tapdancing on a stripper pole: terrifying, yet stimulating and slightly erotic.

"Is this what you were crying about, Liz?" he said, "Thornton's looked worse after a night out, and I've seen him on a few of those!"

"Yes. Yew'd know that if you ever got out of the howse and had a drink with me." Sanch pointed out reasonably in his American accent.

"Well, I suppose since you dragged me in here..." Dag stared at his boss. He was staring blankly into space and not blinking. It seemed perfectly straightforward, although Liz would probably make him put his thermometer where the sun don't shine to prove it. "They've taken his brain out."

"My gawd! Doesn't he need wan of those?"

"Not... necessarily." Dag frowned. Thornton's hand was moving, signing all of the paperwork he had been too lazy to do when his mind was filled with thoughts. He had always known that paper pushers were mindless automatons (which is the metaphor for this whole story, so pay attention because I'm not spelling it out for you every time. Put some damn effort in you freeloaders.)

"What is he signing?" Liz asked. Both of the men laughed. It was just like a woman to want to stick her nose into other people's business. Dag resisted the urge to punch her in the face.

"I'm sure it's nothing important."


End file.
